


I Miss Missing You

by Ghost (ThemBones)



Series: Shifting Puzzle Pieces [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, I don't know how to tag things I'm sorry please forgive me kami sama, Just takes place after the original canon I guess????, M/M, Masturbation, Mostly just repressed feelings between Kuroo and Kenma, There's KuroTsukki if you squint hard enough, party boy Kuroo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 12:50:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3570311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThemBones/pseuds/Ghost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life is hard. College is harder. Jerking it to the thought of your childhood best friend somehow makes things easier, right?</p>
<p>AKA: Kuroo has a tough day and has a moment alone all to himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Miss Missing You

**Author's Note:**

> wow um hi hello   
> This was just supposed to be a short-ass masturbation fic for the bae, but it turned out a little better than I thought it would, so. ... Now it is here.  
> Way to go me, popping my AO3 cherry with some shameless, soft-core smut.
> 
> Anyway, on with the show.

                It had been a long day. An entirely too long day, if you were to ask Kuroo Tetsurou. Frankly, he hadn’t been this tired in ages, and today hadn’t been particularly strenuous in comparison to the countless practice days he’d had back in high school. But the middle-blocker attended university now, and good god, would he trade today for running suicides across the gym floor at Nekoma High. At least _there_ he had good company…

                Well, he had good company here too, going to school with so many of his old volleyball buddies, but he didn’t nearly have the view of getting to watch a certain pudding-haired setter calculate situations in split seconds before executing his perfect plans to score a point on the opposite side of the court. Oddly enough for the playboy, that cognitive action was just as attractive to him as watching some scantily clad girls grind on each other at a party last weekend. …Which is to say if Kozume _Kenma_ pulled a stunt like that—hands up in the air, shirt riding up to reveal that slim waist while he rolled his hips back against Kuroo’s in a pair of tight gold shorts—there would be no hope for the Nekoma-graduate to restrain himself. That would be the end of the bed-head blocker, and Bokuto would have to read the horrifying eulogy that he and Lev had concocted whilst drunk out of their fucking minds at his funeral.

                Kuroo, for a beat, considered the fact that having that glorious moment in time may be worth all in attendance at his funeral hearing that embarrassing script that basically sold him out in every way possible. Sleeping with a secret stuffed animal, included.

                But he was much too tired to even think about being embarrassed at the moment. All he could do was to toss his loaded backpack down in the corner of his surprisingly organized room before collapsing face-down into his bed. His brain fizzled and popped like a broken transistor radio as he tried to figure out how he was ever going to feed himself again since he’d never move from this new, mildly suffocating position on his comforter, coming to the conclusion that at some point, Bokuto would have to come home and find him before he died. Another embarrassing death avoided. Yes. This was good.

                The thought of his death, however, brought his brain back around to his thoughts from moments ago—Embarrassing eulogy, deep dark secrets revealed about how he secretly liked the idea of being a bottom only for, like, a few minutes though because he knew in his heart of hearts that he would never be anything but a wild, carnivorous animal that mounted its mate and fucked them senseless… Sleeping with stuffed animals, back to the thought that brought him there; The two large-breasted girls grinding—

                And suddenly, Kenma was looking up and back at him with half-lidded eyes, lips parted ever so slightly in a light pant, one hand reaching up to snake around the back of his neck while the other slid low, lower between them and squeezed— “Oh my _god_.” Kuroo had never been so aware of how turned on he was by a mere thought before. But it was not something he wanted to ignore. Ohh, no. Having startled himself out of the imagery with the shock of how real and fucking _good_ it felt in his mind, the young man groped desperately to try and get the scene back in his head before it escaped him completely. There he was again, in a dark, sweaty club with music pounding all around him and inside him, and his childhood best friend was making a face that exuded pure ecstasy as he ground his ass up against Kuroo’s crotch. ‘Please,’ it said. ‘I want you to touch me,’ those golden honey eyes begged as a bead of sweat rolled down his temple to his sharp jaw.

                Kuroo could not get his pants off fast enough.

                Nor could he bother with getting up to close the door to his room, should Bokuto come home while he was jacking it, but the other had seen him in worse situations before—Catching him violently jerking off wouldn’t put any sort of shocking surprise in their relationship.

                Kicking his shoes off and rolling over onto his back in order to rip his black skinny jeans off and shake himself free of the restricting clothing, the middle blocker just about had a fit trying to get the offending fabric off of his legs as it tangled and twisted and pulled itself inside out. Once a freed man, his boxers came next, not wanting to be constrained in the slightest when he thought about this new scene. His calloused hand shot to his length that was only at half-mast by this point, but he wasted no time in tugging and pumping himself to the rhythm of the imaginary Kenma’s grinding. In his mind, the club was crowded, but that only made touching the bleached blond even more exciting, running his hands up to tweak those rosy nipples in the middle of a mass of writhing bodies that were probably looking at them—watching them and waiting to see what happened next. Kenma’s expression bloomed into a brow-furrowing moan, those soft lips opening wider into a relaxed ‘o’ as his back arched, pressing his chest into Kuroo’s damning touch.

                ‘Kenma,’ he sighed in his dream, leaning down to whisper seductively in his ear, his own lips grazing across the younger boy’s salty skin. Rubbing over the erect flesh with the pads of his middle fingers, he listened to Kenma’s higher-pitched groans over the sound of the thumping bass, his fist tightening in reality around his cock as his thumb rubbed steadily over his slit, the digit sliding easily as his lower head began to weep.

                How many nights had he thought about the bleached blond? Too many to count, that was for certain, but the man couldn’t help himself, especially now that the _first years_ from Nekoma and opposing schools were entering university for their first semester. He’d been away from Kenma and their hometown for a year before learning that the blond wasn’t going to attend a four-year (just yet, he had said), and would likely be transferring schools in the latter half of his pursuit of higher education. That had devastated the middle blocker, but Bokuto had continuously told him that there was no use in crying over spilt milk, and he’d better just get on his hands and knees to drink up what he could, _when_ he could. That statement had been followed by an elbow to the ribs and waggling eyebrows in his oh-so-obvious nudge-nudge-hint-hint kind of way. Kuroo had snorted and agreed, but even the silvery-haired owl had no idea just how much of a dumb, nervous loser he was around his childhood friend. He could barely bring up ideas of a sexual nature around him, let-alone make some sort of _advance._

                But that’s what being smitten led you to do when you were around the number one crush you’d had for upward of a decade.

                That, and, well. Jerking yourself off furiously in the confines of your bedroom with your brow furrowed and head half-twisted into the pillow, moaning said crush’s name like it was a holy mantra. But in all fairness, the Kenma in the ex-Nekoma captain’s brain was moaning his name, too.

                At this point in his fantasy, Kuroo had materialized one of those lounge couches over in the corner of the club, having moved them from the mass of writhing bodies to some place a little more private, but by no means did that keep others from watching as he bent Kenma backward over the arm of the couch, keeping the blond’s hips raised high, and his legs wrapped around Kuroo’s waist. He ground his hips hard up against those straining gold shorts that his small friend wore, slotting his own clothed erection up against Kenma’s as they rutted on the arm of the couch. The younger of the two was whimpering with desire with each angry thrust of the midnight-haired blocker’s hips, but it was those fluttering, honey eyes that struck him with force that could not be accomplished otherwise.

 _‘Please,’_ he could almost hear Kenma’s naturally timid voice right there in his ear as he lay in his bed. _‘I need you.’_ And the desperation was so palpable, it elicited a full-body shudder in his reality as he brought himself closer and closer to the edge of his orgasm. The setter reached his arms up for the taller man, silently beckoning him to his body and Kuroo sank, still grinding his hips wildly up against his imaginary lover’s own, even as he wrapped his arms like an iron trap around the other’s slim, glistening body. ‘Kuroo,’ the blond moaned. ‘I’m gonna--!!’

                 And then the ex-captain’s vision went white, his orgasm ripping through his body like a violent shock to his system, forcing his hips to arch up off the bed, his toes curling tight as he milked himself dry there in his room. He barely registered the warm mess that had partially shot onto his lower abdomen when his shirt had ridden up in the process, but even if he had noticed, the second his body relaxed onto his bedding, he wouldn’t have cared. His thoughts had taken a jagged shift into a memory that he could clearly recall from the day before he moved to the university. The sun was setting, the air was mildly humid from the waning summer, and the wind made the trees of the park whisper like gossiping onlookers as he and Kenma sat side by side on the swings. The bleached blond almost refused to look up at him, his eyes glued down at the sand beneath his shoes, but Kuroo could feel the sadness emanating from him.

                 The high school boy had refused to admit it, but he had been crying.

 _“I’m going to miss you,”_ he mumbled, though the ex-captain had heard his friend as clear as day. The words shot through him like a sharpened lance to an unarmored jousting opponent, and he could feel his stomach sink even now, like it had on that very day. _“But I know it’ll be fine.”_ It had been reassuring to hear those words from Kenma, but still, his heart broke in his chest for the boy he could barely function properly around. He knew the true, calming subtext of those words, now, at least, but at the time, he’d been panicking, trying desperately to find something to say—Anything to make the moment easier on the both of them, but as soon as the middle blocker had convinced himself that he was going to tell his best friend that he was in love with him, that he would _always_ be in love with him and would wait for him until the day he fucking croaked—

                Kenma looked up and fixed him with a tired-eyed, weak smile that was reserved for him, and only him, Kuroo knew, and all words were swallowed by the subtle beauty of it all, crushed back down his throat and sent to simmer in the pit of his roiling stomach for another five years.

                _“Hah. Of course it’ll be fine. I’ve got Bokuto to go out and cause a riot with, and you have Lev and the team to watch over!”_ It’s not what he wanted to say at all. _“I’ll keep a seat in my lectures nice and warm for ya when you can make it to the university. I know you’ll make it.”_ He kicked the ground to set himself swinging slowly like nothing was ever the matter in the first place, but his insides were positively burning by then, and it was a fucking miracle that he was able to hold it all in in the first place. Leaning back as he swung, he shot one of his classic, mischievous grins at the setter, trying to take the edge off of his aching heart with a slight. _“And besides, you know I’ll be coming back every so often to make sure that Lev hasn’t completely broken you and made you quit the team. He’ll be just as fun as dealing with those new first-years, Kenma.”_ He snickered, and when the bleached blond reached out to smack the top of his mussed head, he let out a real laugh, knowing that he’d done his part to at least make his best friend smile.

                _“Just… Come home safely, you idiot.”_

                Home. Kenma knew that the only place he considered home was in the blond’s very own bedroom.

                Opening his eyes to the blankness of his own apartment room’s ceiling, the ex-captain sat up and sighed, examining himself for a moment before he moved to the foot of his bed, reaching out and over the edge to grab his boxers he had so unceremoniously kicked off a little bit ago, tugging them up his muscled thighs to sit snugly at his hipbones. Kuroo sat there at the end of his bed, legs crossed and peering down at the crumpled mess of his jeans on the floor, his brows furrowed ever so slightly as he assessed his current mood.

                He certainly felt better and a little less tired after his orgasm, in contradiction to his gender’s typical trope after climax. He felt relaxed and noticed a difference in the tension beneath his shoulder blades, but there was an odd, heavy stone in the pit of his stomach whose weight was cold and melancholic, and he could feel every beat of his heart like it was trying to punch his sternum out of frustration. It was an odd place to be in, emotionally, he guessed, but the underlying sadness could be put to rest with a simple text to a certain pudding-haired boy hours away from him. Reaching down off the side of the bed to try and fish his phone out of the back pocket of his discarded jeans, he tapped the home button to bring up his lock screen, though what greeted him there was not the picture of the stray tabby cat that prowled around his apartment complex (that he fed on a regular basis, thank you very much).

                Instead, was a text message from one Tsukishima Kei that had been received at some point between the time he had gotten home and now. Forgetting his initial reasoning for grabbing his phone, he unlocked the screen and read the text, his brows raising in mild amusement at the message:

                _Come over. I want to play Mario Kart, but no one else I know other than Yamaguchi is even mildly adept at playing that game, and I already had lunch with him today._

                With a snort of laughter and a roll of his eyes, Kuroo grunted and stood from his bed, stretching tall as he made his way to his bathroom to clean himself up before he got re-dressed. _Be there in ten,_ he texted back, hurrying up to make himself look presentable again for the odd, unlikely freshman friend he’d made way back when, during the summer training camp that Karasuno had attended for the first time. He and Bokuto had locked on to that tall, blond-haired megane, had sunk their teeth into him, and still, years later, had made sure that they stayed close enough to hang out and invite each other to parties on the weekends.

                Tsukishima was a bundle of trouble that could actually keep up with Kuroo’s habits.

                And he _liked_ that.

                Once he had dubbed himself clean enough, the college student slipped on his jeans, socks, and shoes again, running his fingers through his perpetually upturned hair before he snatched his wallet from his backpack and moved out into the kitchen, writing a disgustingly sweet and adorable note for Bokuto on their shared fridge whiteboard that he’d be out at Kei’s place, and to call if he needed anything. Grabbing his keys from the hook next to the front door, the middle blocker slipped out of his apartment, locked the place up, and headed off to walk his ass to Tsukishima’s apartment that was thankfully only two blocks away, no sign of melancholy or sadness anywhere in sight.

                Kuroo Tetsurou never did remember to text Kenma to tell him that he missed him, too.

**Author's Note:**

> ...so yeah.  
>  This is actually part of my headcanon for all the kids after high school graduation, so this MAY be the beginning of a multi-chapter, multi-character, multi-relationship, multi-horriblydepressingheartbreak fic that I may post up here. It completely depends. 
> 
> So let's just consider this as testing the waters for those who may be interested in reading it! If you'd comment/leave a kudos for me, I'll be able to gauge the interest, so YEAH DO THE THING DO IT DO I T 
> 
> MAKE ME HAVE AN EXCUSE TO WRITE V. V.SHAMELESS PORN AND BREAK YOUR HEART AT THE SAME TIME.
> 
> it's my favourite thing to do to you, Kouhai... u wu


End file.
